roat, or take by force
the woman he loved, and drag her away to his own lawless East. He
wondered now why he had not fallen upon Lushington and tried to kill
him in the road. He wondered why, when Margaret had been safe in the
motor car, he had not put the machine at full speed for Havre, where
his yacht was lying. His artificial civilisation had hindered him of
course! It would not check him now, if Lushington were within arm's
length, or if Margaret were in his power. It would be very bad for any
one to come between him and what he wanted so much, just then, that his
throat was dry and he could hear his heart beating as he sat in his
chair. He sat there a long time because he was not sure what he might
do if he allowed himself the liberty of crossing the room. If he did
that, he might write a note, or go to the telephone, or ring for his
secretary, or do one of fifty little things whereby the train of the
inevitable may be started in the doubtful moments of life.

It did not occur to him that he was not the arbiter of his actions in
that moment, free to choose between good and evil, which he, perhaps,
called by other names just then. He probably could not have remembered
a moment in his whole life at which he had not believed himself the
master of his own future, with full power to do this, or that, or to
leave it undone. And now he was quite sure that he was choosing the
part of wisdom in resisting the strong temptation to do something rash,
which made it a physical effort to sit still and keep his eyes on his
book. He held the volume firmly with both hands as if he were clinging
to something fixed which secured him from being made to move against
his will.

One of fate's most amusing tricks is to let us work with might and main
to help her on, while she makes us believe that we are straining every
nerve and muscle to force her back.

If Logotheti had not insisted on sitting still that afternoon nothing
might have happened. If he had gone out, or if he had shut himself up
with his statue, beyond the reach of visitors, his destiny might have
been changed, and one of the most important events of his life might
never have come to pass.

But he sat still with his book, firm as a rock, sure of himself,
convinced that he was doing the best thing, proud of his strength of
mind and his obstinacy, perfectly pharisaical in his contempt of human
weakness, persuaded that no power in earth or heaven could force him to
do or